Paying Proper Respect
by Crimson Cheshire
Summary: This is a Duke of Milan/OC story. I got inspired after watching AC Lineage. Also, consider this a test to check my writing skills.


"You may rise" he said, "Darian stay behind, the rest of you can go, we all have matters to attend to." Soon, the room was empty save for the Duke and his guest, and though the Duke moved forward still, extending a hand with his insignia worn on the finger, the other remained on his knees, holding the position and extending a hand on his own to accept the one of the Duke. He did not however bend and kiss the ring as was customary, but rather extended the touch of lips to the front of the Duke's robes. The Duke sighed, "Suck me",he comanded, while reaching behind the head of the other and undoing the ribbon that held his hair together. Darian moved his head closer, parted the robes revealing Galeazzo's hardness and started mouthing it over the fabric. "You know", Galeazzo suddenly exclaimed, "I've been sitting here in my office imagining you would drop to your knees and kiss, suck and breathe over the fabric much like you do right now."

"It would start like this", he continued, "I would get hard every time you would pay the formal respects to my position, kneeling and kissing the ring. You would of course leave as soon as you came in and reported about your current mission, leaving me frustrated that not only I couldn't satisfy my craving, but also had to discuss the current affairs -the details you provided me with among them- with my scholars and advisaries trying to predict our enemies' next move and plan our own. Those meetings always seemed to last more than necessary, despite the little information that we had at the time and the general meeting that was planned in accordance later that day. I always tried to avoid them because of my current predicament and the little time it gave me to adress it before the next discussion, this time concerning the palazzo, the economy, even Milan itself. As soon as the double doors would close I would lean against my desk and imagine you, earlier in the day, with the fantasy taking a different course than reality. It is always the same way: I reach under my skirt and think of your mouth on me, of all the things you are doing at this very moment, so I cup myself, palm and knead through the material until it is soaked with my fluids. My need is already straining against the fabric so, that were it possible that I was any harder, I'd have surely ripped it. I have little time in my hands but it doesn't matter as I'm alredy close, the fabric now thoroughly soaked I strain to discard it. I think I have ruined enough underwear in my haste to take them off, they were in tatters as I simply couldn't bother to be careful. My manhood is now free and pushing my skirt up, before I bother to remove it from the way I go over to the bookshelves to retrieve the oil.

My steps are heavy as I reach for the secret compartment behind a bookshelf, I always keep it in the same place it is easier, easier to remember where it is, easier to prevent anyone from finding it. I am a Duke after all, to subject myself into such acts in broad daylight with thoughts of sodomy no less, drifting through my mind is unbecoming of my position. Were it any other way I would be offended myself, and I still curse my traitorous body and lustful nature that I am reduced to this. I make my way back to the desk in long strides my need very much bouncing with every step, I very much like it that way, it is as if it's stoking itself, rubbing against the air, making my breath hitch every now and then. I stand with my back against the desk again, supporting myself. My breath heaving, my heart beating frantically against my chest, the heat is getting to me and I am sure I would have a splitting headache if all of my blood hadn't rushed south. I remove the lid and pour out a fair amound, coating myself and creating a vice-like grip from root to tip with both my hands using short and hard thrusts as I imagine that I move in your mouth. Hot, wet and tight, welcoming me, I fuck my hands as I try to best remember all your moves. Struggling to stop just before the end I manage to grip the root hard enough to reach behind me for a handkerchief. The carpet is rather expensive and such stains are difficult to explain without losing some face, no one must know about this, no one can know. I make sure to pull it over the head and in three short strokes I come hard. My hunger is far from satisfied however and I know that if I don't occupy myself with other matters immediately, my hardness will be back in a matter of seconds. I clean my hands from the rest of the oil, reapply the cup in the bottle and stash it away for another time, and pick up my underwear from the floor. Making my way to the passageway connecting the study with my private bedchambers (one can never be too cautious regarding the safety of their house) I soak the underwear along with the handkerchief in a nearby basin exclusively for this purpose. I dress in a new set and staighten myself, I have to return to the study as members of the counsil have already started to make their way to the meeting.

Sometimes I wish I could tell them what I'm doing with you behind closed doors without repercussions, that they would accept it as is and make no comment, no move to reprimand me, have no ill thoughts about me. I wish I could sit on my chair with you in between my legs sucking on me hours on end, while no one paid any attention to a soft hiss or breathy moan.


End file.
